


Golden Lakes (A View from Rome)

by Kittypatch



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blindfolds, Body Worship, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Frottage, M/M, Making Out, One Shot, PWP, Power Dynamics, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 09:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12009765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittypatch/pseuds/Kittypatch
Summary: Pete, Patrick, a hotel room in Italy, and the backlog of Game of Thrones episodes they haven't been able to watch yet. Date night doesnotgo as Pete originally planned.





	Golden Lakes (A View from Rome)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short smutty one-shot!
> 
> Enjoy

When Pete imagined touring Europe as a kid, he always pictured it with layers of sophistication. There would be gelato and chasing pretty girls with long dark hair on matching scooters. He’d probably check out a museum, see what culture was like on the other side of the globe.

In reality, it was mostly hotel rooms, lots and lots of hotel rooms. And venues, and the back of cabs. He didn’t want to complain because rich Rockstar, lots of money, lots of attention blah blah blah. But they were in Italy right now, on a rare night off, and they were spending it in a hotel room.

Well, Pete was. Nice and warm in the hotel room on what would be a hot date night if Patrick ever felt inclined to go out. He was two nights away from vocal rest and he wanted a quiet night in. So it was a date night that involved all the Game of Thrones they hadn’t been able to catch while away. Patrick was out getting snacks. Pete had told him to just call room service, but Patrick, in his weirdly enthusiastic way, had decided that as they were in Rome, they should have something a little more exciting. Nearly forty-five minutes he’d been gone now, hidden in the deli across the street from the hotel. If Pete stared out the window long enough he was certain he saw the figure of Patrick bopping in and out of sight.

Ten minutes later there was finally a bustle at the door and Patrick burst through, paper bags dangling from his wrists, his key card fluttering to the floor. He looked at it with a grimace before kicking the door behind him and smiling sunnily at Pete.

“Don't pull that look,” he said to Pete, walking into the room and dropping the bags to the desk. 

“Did you slip into Spanish again?” Pete teased. He looked over Patrick's shoulder to see him plucking clear plastic punnets and pots from his bag. He could see emerald olives, stuffed peppers, crusty cobs of bread, dipping oils, a nest of deep ruby cherries and peaches quartered. There was a final pot of honey wrapped in the same bag as the peaches

“I get my romantic languages mixed up.” Patrick turned until he was facing Pete, smirking at him, raising an eyebrow. “I got talking to the man there.”

“Dunno how I feel about that.” Pete slipped his hands to Patrick's hips. Patrick would tell him off if the possessive side of Pete came on too strong, but he liked it mostly. He did now, for how his hands were sliding over Pete's shoulders, curling over the base of his neck.

“I wouldn't feel too worried, he was like seventy,” Patrick said, he kissed Pete full on the mouth, hands curling over his cheeks. “I asked him how to make an evening romantic even in a hotel room.”

“Yeah, and what did he say?” Pete asked. He pulled Patrick closer, which was hard because they were already packed close. Patrick's thigh was jammed between Pete's knees and their chests were touching every time that they breathed out. 

“That we’re already in the most romantic place in the world, the rest is up to the food.” Pete looked over Patrick's shoulder to stare at the display of food.

“Erotic peaches?” Pete said. He caught Patrick's annoyed glance and stepped away from Patrick before he was pushed. “I like your erotic peaches best.”

“Eat a dick, Pete,” Patrick informed him, before dropping down onto the bed. “Have you set up Game of Thrones?”

“I was too busy waiting for you to come back,” Pete insisted, but then got to it. Patrick steadfastly refused to work anything electronic if it wasn't for music. Which was fine by Pete, they'd never watch anything decent if it was up to Patrick. 

It took them a while to finally get down to watching the show. Patrick wanted to shower, which was fine, but then he started complaining that they didn't have anything to drink and he didn't want alcohol because he'd had some the night before and he liked to look after his voice more, so what could they have to match the food?

“Patrick, I swear to God, you’re such a goddamn drama queen. You're so precious.”

“I'm a drama queen because I want to fucking be good at my job and have a nice time?” Patrick said, wriggling down the bed some more. “Call room service and ask for some nice water?”

“Nice water?” Pete stared at Patrick before sighing and stumbling from the bed to the desk. He called room service while he ate a handful of olives. He spat out the stones into his hand as he presumed he ordered fancy water. It was hard to understand each other.

They ended up with a few bottles of Pellegrino which calmed Patrick's whining down. Then it was finally time to catch up with the show. They sat quietly for a while, or Pete was too enraptured in the show to notice Patrick’s fidgeting. When the shuffling beside him became too much, he turned to Patrick with an annoyed glance.

“Sorry.” Patrick grimaced, like he actually felt bad. They managed another fifteen minutes before Patrick’s rummaging and general ADD got too much for Pete.

“I prefer when we watch this separately,” Pete said, when the rummaging, puffing and clicking of the phone got too much. 

“You know I'm not very good at this,” Patrick admitted. “I love the show and I love you, but I get distracted.”

“It’s alright. We got fancy ass food to eat, and a tour bus for tomorrow. We can watch separately and gossip about it afterward.” Pete attempted a wink and leaned over to pause his tablet. He changed it to play some music in the background instead. “We do have fancy ass food to eat instead.”

“And classy water!” Patrick laughed, leaning up to kiss Pete before rushing over to get the water. They brought everything over to the middle of the bed; the food, the water. Pete wasn't feeling the music that was playing so fiddled around with his tablet until he had the first season of Game of Thrones playing through the TV. He'd seen it so he wouldn't mind such a distracting Patrick beside him. 

Pete wasn't a fan of water that fizzed in his mouth but he traded every mouthful of it with a bite down on fluffy bread, scarlet stuffed peppers and the whole host of treats Patrick had bought. It was kind of fun, dumb probably because there was about ten really awesome looking authentic restaurants down the street, but they'd wanted to spend the night together, having fun and not caring about other people.

Plus there was something hot in this. Patrick was plumper than he’d been in a few years, not fat, but he’d piled on a few pounds and it was showing in the roundness of his cheeks and his stomach, the soft skin that cushioned beneath his chin. Watching him lick a trickle of golden oil dripping down his wrist from the peppers was doing things to Pete. 

“Don't watch, its creepy,” Patrick said, catching Pete in the act. Pete just shrugged unashamedly. 

“This is better than another night of pizza,” Pete admitted instead. The bread oils and the stuffed olives were amazing. So good that he wanted to see how they tasted from Patrick's mouth. He grabbed Patrick by the hair and pulled him in, half kneeling on the bread. Patrick opened his mouth with ease, letting Pete's tongue slide in. Behind the sassy bravado, Patrick was always easy to open up.

“I'm not sucking you off. I don't do that on tour,” Patrick informed Pete, an oily finger replacing his lips against his mouth.

“I know you don’t,” Pete said regrettably. Why were tours so long? Why did he always have to wait so long before sinking his dick inside Patrick’s hot slick mouth? When the mood struck, and Patrick was accommodating, he was like, the serious bees knees at blow jobs. 

“Eat an olive, Pete,” Patrick said, shoving one into Pete’s lips, before moving away. He did his odd Patrick thing where he wiggled his fingers over the vibrant display of food like he couldn't decide before he opened the punnet of sliced peaches and nibbled the end of one. Pete watched, rolling the olive stone in his mouth. The juice from the peach dribbled down Patrick's bottom lip, rolled over his chin and was wiped away carelessly with the back of his hand before he took another bite.

He'd never really considered Patrick a messy eater because he rarely watched. They were known to bring a can of whipped cream to the bedroom on occasion, but that wasn't really eating. Watching Patrick demolish the tower of cream around Pete's dick before falling into a sugar crash wasn't really the same thing.

“we could eat croissants in France, when we get to France.” Pete thought things over in his head, taking a mental step backwards before remembering that they’d been to France already. Touring, no matter where they were, was always a blur from the day they stepped into one country or State, to the next. 

“I ate too many croissants,” Patrick teased, sucking the juice from his fingers and patting his stomach. There was a flash of something across his face, and Pete dropped the bread he’d just picked up. 

“You don't like the weight gain?”

“Not really,” Patrick laughed, grabbing his water and staring at Pete as he sipped. “Everyone makes such a big deal when I lose weight that I feel this weird fucking shame when I put it on. I've never stayed consistent in size. Doesn't bother me so much, just everyone's reaction.”

“I don't care. You're hot whatever.”

“I said everyone, not just you,” Patrick said. “I mean more publicly. It's not a big deal. I don't care.”

“Is that code for you don't wanna talk about it?” Pete teased. Patrick looked like he was summing things up before nodding. “Can we make out instead?” Pete offered. Patrick put his glass down on the side and nodded, opening his arms.

The inside of Patrick's mouth tasted fruity and thick. Every time that Pete pushed his tongue between Patrick's lips, he was met with nothing but an open mouth. Patrick was being suspiciously accommodating, allowing Pete to just kiss him and feel him up beneath his shirt. That generally meant bad shit for Pete at another time. 

“Why are you just laying there letting me kiss you?” Pete asked, pushing back the strands of Patrick's hair from his forehead. Patrick had his hand on Pete’s shoulders, and flushed cheeks. 

“Why are you questioning everything I do suspiciously?” Patrick hit back. 

“Because you're easy but you're not _that_ easy.” Pete pressed a kiss to Patrick and got his lip nipped in return. Patrick knew he was right though, because he just shrugged and pulled Pete in for another kiss. Patrick was already in soft clothes from his shower, but he pulled them off now, quickly helping Pete out of his.

There was a moment where they both just stared at each other. Pete at Patrick; at his white skin, soft and round. Then Patrick at Pete; more angular, more muscle and _regrettable dumb tattoos_ that Patrick bitched and stroked at equally. 

Pete fell down onto Patrick, stroking a hand over his stomach. It was soft, hot to touch and he pressed down a little too harsh. Patrick rolled his hips up, spreading his legs slightly. Patrick liked to be touched and stroked, which separated them slightly. Pete was a more to the point kind of guy; Patrick had made him really focus on foreplay. 

“You can fuck me,” Patrick said lazily, when Pete's hands pressed down lower, against the small fuzz against the base of his cock. “But you can't fuck me.”

“What?” Pete could still taste the oil in Patrick's mouth, but he bit gently on his full bottom lip, wriggling until their hips were pressed together, tucked warm against Patrick’s body. He looked down at his guy now, all soft features and red.

“I don't wanna deal with the after effects,” Patrick laughed slowly. He cupped his hands either side of Pete's face and stroked his thumbs over his cheeks. “So fuck me without fucking me.”

“I can do that,” Pete said. He rocked his hips down, his cock grazing the inside of Patrick's thigh. He shifted so he was balanced on one arm, the other one grazing Patrick's ribs lightly. He eyed the display of food laying on the folds of the sheets on the other side of the bed. “Wait, give me a sec.”

Pete hopped up from the bed, their knees knocking as he did so. Patrick cussed him, but then sat up, watching Pete rummage in Patrick's suitcase. He pulled out his scarf; the warm red plaid one that smelt like him. Pete held it to his nose briefly before darting back over to the bed again.

“What are you doing?” Patrick asked, laughing when Pete climbed over his lap again. He kissed Patrick's mouth because his lips were looking pinker than normal, smooth and so completely fucking awesome.

“Removing your eyesight?” Pete posed it as a question because again, Patrick could be picky and choosy about that kind of thing. Self esteem probably. Pete didn't know. He tried to do puppy dog eyes, and Patrick made him wait a full thirty seconds before nodding his head. 

“Not too tight,” Patrick said, cautiously. He gave Pete a serious look before closing his eyes in wait. Pete tied the scarf against Patrick's eyes, folding it so that it was layered only over his eyes. When he asked if Patrick could see anything, he flipped him off. Pete laughed, kissing his mouth.

He pressed Patrick down gently, watching the nervous dart of his tongue slide out to wet his lips. It was a nervous twitch, as was the wriggling he was so fond of doing. Pete rested his hand on Patrick's warm belly and pressed down until he calmed. 

“Sorry,” Patrick said with an awkward laugh. Pete didn't respond. At least with Patrick blindfolded he could look without any kind of reaction. Patrick was short, it wasn't a secret and yeah, Pete only had four or so inches on him, but it showed with Patrick. He was built differently, maybe it showed up more. Even at his slimmest there'd been a roundness to his hips and thighs, his stomach never really flat.

Pete didn't give a fuck, of course, well he did and that was where the issued laid. Patrick was hot and he was kinda cuddly but it was one of those things that went unmentioned. Everyone had soft spots, Pete had his own.

“I'm not coming without touch,” Patrick complained, suitably bored from all the staring. Pete leaned down and kissed his soft lips, scratching his short nails over Patrick's ribs. Patrick moaned into his mouth, hands clutching at Pete’s shoulder.

Pete's hand moved from stroking Patrick's side to fumble with the food beside him. He nudged his head down until he was kissing at Patrick's neck, waiting for him to roll it backwards and expose his Adam’s apple. He sucked on the small lump in his throat, gently to not disturb the whining as he grabbed at one of the small pots of dipping oil and cherries.

He held one of the cherries by its long stem and then cupped Patrick’s neck in his hand. He pressed the cool dark red fruit to Patrick's lips and watched the soft pink mouth part, his teeth grabbing ahold of the fruit. Pete didn't let go of the stem and watched as Patrick played with the fruit for a few seconds. His lips would fold a puckering kiss over it, as gentle as he was when they were off tour and he'd allow Pete his mouth. 

Pete finally tugged the stalked away from the fruit and watched Patrick take a bite from the cherry. He plucked the stone from his mouth and chewed it down. Pete quickly put his mouth on Patrick again, to taste the rich fruit in his own mouth.

“Are you really bringing food into this?” Patrick said against Pete's mouth. 

“Don't act like your dick isn't hard right now,” Pete said. He grabbed at Patrick's dick and stroked him. He was growing harder in his hand. Pete didn't jerk him in the way he wanted, instead leaning down to suck on one of Patrick's pink nipples instead. He bit down, sucking, a little harder than normal and then moved away to work on the other one. He went between them, until they were pink and sore. Patrick loved it, he was fisting the bed in his hands, trying to sit up, trying to do anything. He wasn't touching his own dick. 

Pete lifted up and liked his lips at Patrick's red chest. He pressed his fingers to the sucker marks, feeling damp skin. Patrick was almost shaking beneath his fingers, maybe a little more overworked than he would be because he couldn't see. 

Pete scratched him with his nails, teeth, soothing sore spots with his tongue and massaging fingers. He drank Patrick's moans in, watched the way his own teeth came out to nibble at his lip. It gave Pete a boost when he did it, made him feel good at his job.

He was hard himself now, he couldn't not be. He stroked himself as he kissed at Patrick's neck. He wasn't allowed to leave hickies, another one of his rules, even if Patrick had no problem bruising Pete's throat back. They were both possessive in separate ways. He sat up, stopping the jerking of his own dick to pin Patrick down onto the bed. He moved to wrap a hand around Patrick's wrist, waiting until he stopped moving.

Patrick's body was warm beneath him, sweaty, breathing hard. He didn't move away, didn't push Pete off which was all he wanted to do. He slowly uncurled his fingers from Patrick's wrist and waited. He didn't move. Good. Pete used the lightest of touches to gently circle his way up the inside of Patrick's wrist. Patrick tensed,then laughed. He was ticklish. He told Pete to fuck off and stop, but he was trying his hardest not to move his hand. He made it into the warm heat of the inside of Patrick's elbow before he swapped his fingers for a cherry. Patrick laughed at the absurdity and the feeling. Pete pressed the fruit down to Patrick's skin before popping it into his own mouth. He held half of it in his mouth before pressing it to Patrick's lips. Patrick took it greedily, breathing fast. He bit down and scraped the side without the stone. He swallowed it down, coughing up a gasp when Pete held his dick in a firm grasp; a slow dirty handshake. 

Pete looked at Patrick; his pink face; the blots of red Pete's own moves had left over his chest. He'd be in trouble for that when the haze of sex left Patrick's brain. His dick was hot in Pete's dark hand, the rest of his body still pale; perspiring and glistening on the hotel sheets. Pete wasn't allowed to fuck him. Fucking for them meant penetration. That meant no fingers, which was a sure fire way to set Patrick's trigger off, having coming against his own soft belly. 

Pete stroked Patrick more, making sure to keep it intense enough that Patrick wouldn't get bored and mouthy. He watched Patrick spread his legs, using his spare hand to fondle his own dick when he watched the jiggle of Patrick's thighs as he moved. He hadn't discovered a love of thick thighs until Patrick, which made him a self-certified idiot. He loved it on stage, watching the intense stretch of black jeans straining as Patrick stamped his little feet to the rhythm Andy set with the drums. Patrick didn't even know, Pete wouldn't tell him, but it was one of the things he enjoyed most about performing with him. Aside from all the super serious shit.

“I know you're staring,” Patrick said, his voice shaking. Pete rolled his thumb against the head of Patrick's now slick dick and watched him spread his thighs some more. Knowing Patrick, he wasn't sure whether that was deliberate or not. Still he stared at where he wasn't allowed; it was like the carrot dangled in front of the horse; the end of the tunnel that never quite came to pass. Pete sighed and pulled his hand from both their dicks.

He grabbed at the dipping oils this time and wondered how much of a fuss Patrick would make. He held the paper cup a good ten inches above Patrick's torso before he tilted the cup upside down.

“Fuck, Pete,” Patrick moaned, body tensing and jolting as the first thick drops of oil landed just above his belly button. Pete watched for a few seconds and the oil made golden lakes of Patrick's body, trickling down the white skin it found. It pooled into his belly button, slid smoothly down his hips and groin, dampening his skin even more. “This is weird.”

“It's hot.” Pete laid a gentle finger against one golden rivulet, the pad of his finger sliding smoothly over Patrick's body. He scraped his nail again, watching Patrick writhe against the bed. His hand was slick by the time he was finished tracing the oil over Patrick's body. He used it to roughly stroke Patrick again. He was really hard now, the sensory play doing a wonder on him. Like Pete knew, he was a huge fan of foreplay; he could get off easily with it. 

Pete bent down on the bed again, hand still on Patrick's dick. He tasted the oil on Patrick's skin. It had a raspberry taste, which mixed with the salty sweat of his own skin. He nipped at the sensitive flesh against Patrick's groin, getting a backhand to the back of the head for it. He moved to his thighs, breathing in the scent of Patrick as he bit and sucked, stroking Patrick. 

“That's good, baby,” Patrick was saying, breathless and loud. He was always loud. God bless the neighboring room. Joe and Andy had been booked on a separate floor, having the experience to know better. 

“I wanna come with you,” Pete said lifting up. He straddled Patrick again, over his thighs. This was always awkward, and not his favorite way to get off, but it was with Patrick, who was covered in bruises and weird fruity oil. It would be amazing. He wrapped his hand around Patrick's dick and lined his own up against him. Patrick knew what to do, covering Pete's cock with his hand. They moved their hands over their dicks, in clumsy time with each other. Pete thrust, their dicks sliding between their hands. Patrick laughed again, like this was the funniest part yet. Pete shut his eyes and just felt it, the slick feel of Patrick's oiled body, the feel of their cocks hot and sliding together, Patrick's neat fingers curving over his dick. They came round about the same time, Pete pushing kisses onto Patrick's soft cheeks, the bend of his lower lip. He grazed his teeth against Patrick's jawbone as their hands got sticky and wet. 

Pete rolled onto his back when they were done, bread beneath his shoulder until he tossed it across the room. He heard Patrick scoff from beside him. He turned to see that Patrick had removed the scarf blindfold just in time to see Pete's violent response to the bread.

“At least you didn't use the olives, I suppose,” Patrick slurred, sliding his hand through the golden shimmer of his hips. He dabbed it onto his tongue and his forehead creased. “Taste like raspberries.”

“You bought it,” Pete shrugged. He rolled onto his side and stared at Patrick, at his slick and sweaty body. “I did good.”

“You made me come,” Patrick said dismissively before laughing. He could never be serious for too long. Pete felt his own face lighting up as he watched the silly creasing up Patrick's face did when he laughed. Everything Patrick did used his entire body; laughing, singing, fucking. Maybe that was why he was so into the hot stuff around fucking. “You made me come using fucking cherries and weird oil.”

“We're in Italy. We're uncultured Americans learning something new, right?” Pete rolled close to Patrick's warm, snuggling arms. They kissed, Patrick's eyelashes fluttered against Pete's. He was so soft, his whole body was everything to Pete.

“Put the peaches to better use next time,” Patrick said with a tease, stroking Pete's face as they pulled apart. Pete narrowed his eyes at him, in joking thought.

“What peaches are we talking about here?”


End file.
